Teacher, Teacher
by SymmetricallyImperfect
Summary: Sherlock returns to Baker Street Comprehensive for his 11th Year of school, only to meet, and develop a crush on, the new Biology teacher, Mr Watson. But does John feel the same? Teacher!John, Student!Sherlock. Rated M for content in later chapters. (All feedback is welcomed openly).
1. Late

Shit. Sherlock was late. And it was only his first day back after the summer. Bloody Mycroft, insisting that he would drive Sherlock in, only to make them late because he just _had_ to take that call from which ever politician he was interning under nowadays. What a way to kick off Year 11. Although, Sherlock thought, he now only had to endure this place a little longer and then he'd be free. Free of idiots like Charlie Magnussen. Free of Mycroft's control and watchful eye. Free to run away to London; it was Sherlock's dream. He shook his head, he better not get ahead of himself, he still had three more years.

The day ran by relatively normally, as usual Sherlock wandered from lesson to lesson, not really paying much attention. He selfishly wished his parents could've sent him to a private school, it just seemed a waste – to send him to a place he hated, to be taught things he already knew, by people who clearly didn't like him. And again, as usual, he spent his lunch time in the music room, practicing the violin – the only time spent at Baker Street Comprehensive (or BSC as it was also known) that he really enjoyed, so much so that he lost track of time and subsequently was late for his last lesson. Lateness was becoming a running theme.

By the time Sherlock arrived to the Biology lab there was only a handful of seats left. He took the one next to Molly Hooper - a small but sweet girl, and his only friend at that.

"Sherlock you're just in time" Molly said, "Miss hasn't shown up yet".

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement and bent down to get a pen from his bag. On his way up he came face to face with Charlie Magnussen and his trail of admirers behind him, "What do you want Magnussen? Were the holidays so dull that you just couldn't wait to see me again?"

Magnussen grabbed Sherlock by his collar, "You think you're everything don't you Holmes. Well you're not. You're just a jumped up little shit who-".

Before Magnussen could finish he found himself being tugged off of Sherlock.

"I think that's quite enough mister…" The tugger waited for a response.

He was in his late twenties, Sherlock deduced, brand new to teaching, but definitely not going to be a pushover, and he was also quite good looking too… Sherlock shook his head - that was one deduction he did not need.

"Magnussen, Charlie Magnussen" the boy retorted.

"Well Mr Magnussen, I don't approve of bullying in my class. So I suggest you and your band of followers sit down now before I kick you out of my class." The unnamed teacher released Magnussen and let him scuttle back to his seat.

"Are you okay?" Mystery teacher placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder - who couldn't help but notice the man's warm, firm but yet not unwelcome grip.

"M'fine." Sherlock muttered, trying not to draw further attention to himself.

"Good. Okay. So, I'm John Watson, but to you lot its Mr Watson, I'll give a quick introduction but first things first, let's get registration out of the way…"

Sherlock zoned out, there was something about the new teacher that intrigued him. John looked like the sort of teacher that could hold the attention of a class effortlessly, one who could flash a smile that melted the hearts of any, and every, female student and yet he seemed oblivious to his charm. He carried himself with a modest dignity; something Sherlock saw rarely walking the halls of Baker Street Comprehensive. Not to mention, most teachers tended to ignore or actively avoid him. Especially after the time that he deduced, quite correctly, that his English teacher, Mr Lestrade, was currently being cheated on by his wife – with another teacher at the school.

It wasn't that anyone one said anything to his face, well apart from Magnussen and his gang, it was just that if they passed him in the corridor students, and teacher alike, tending to give him a wide berth. And of course, being the younger brother of Mycroft Holmes meant that his name already carried a reputation. He was lucky he had Molly.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The sound of John's voice drifted back into the front of Sherlock's mind. "Yes, Sir."

After finishing up with the register, John spoke to the class "Right, well formalities over and done with, maybe I should tell you a bit about myself." He took a moment to survey the room, glad to see they weren't drifting into boredom, but rather listening to him quite intently.

"Your usual teacher, Miss Hall, is currently taking a break and so I will be your teacher for Biology this year." He continued.

"Probably the drugs again." Sherlock murmured. To his horror, the entire class, including John, turned to look at him. Crap, he had meant to say that quieter.

"Sorry?" John enquired.

"Nothing, just an observation." Sherlock ducked his head, willing the ground to swallow him up.

"Careful Sir, you wanna watch Holmes, he's a freak. He knows about people, like their secrets and stuff." Sally Donovan, one of Magnussen's lot, called from the back of the room, resulting in a chorus of laughter from the rest of the class.

Much to Sherlock's relief, John raised his hands to silence the class. "Enough. Sally, comments like that aren't needed. And Sherlock, maybe in the future, it might be best to not make personal 'observations' about members of staff."

With that John began to teach their first topic of the term, something about Genes that Sherlock had already filled away his mind palace last term. But, for John's sake, Sherlock decided to at least try and look like he was engaging in the lesson.

It wasn't long before the bell rung out, signalling the end of the day. Sherlock waited for the majority of chairs to scrape across floors, for the gathering of pencils and pens to be done, before he, himself, packed up. He wanted to make Mycroft wait, a small revenge for being made late that morning.

As he exited the room, John caught him by the arm. "Sherlock, could I have a word?"

Sherlock groaned, he had thought John was okay, he wasn't in the mood to be told off.

"I'm curious Sherlock. Not that I should be confirming such rumours but, between us, how did you know about Miss Hall's erm, let's say 'condition'?"

Oh, he wasn't expecting that. "You mean apart from the litter of needles in her desk drawer? Or maybe the permanent glazed look in her eyes?"

John actually let out a chuckle. "So what Sally meant about you knowing people's secrets?"

"No, any idiot could tell Miss Hall was on something. What Sally was referring to was the way I can deduce things about people that others don't see."

John nodded, "So could you do me? ... I mean, could you deduce me?"

Sherlock studied the teacher, this was the longest conversation he'd had with pretty much anyone ever at BSC. Furthermore, it was one of the rare times he felt he could show off his skill and not be sneered at.

"Okay, so you're in a long term relationship – I'd say roughly seven or eight years, you met at university – but not married. You used to own a black cat, although not your choice, you wanted a dog. You're a younger brother, but you don't get along with your older bro- no, not brother, sister. You wanted to be an army doctor but, presumably, the injury you sustained on you right leg put you out of action. Probably why you became a teacher, you didn't want to waste the training." Sherlock let out a long breath. "Was I close?"

John just stared at Sherlock. "Close, that was brilliant." The teacher blurted out at Sherlock, who was starting to develop a slight blush.

"Oh er, thank you, I-" Sherlock started, only to be interrupted by John, "You did get one thing wrong though, well not wrong entirely. I was in a long term relationship. Only, 'was' being the operative word. We broke up, me and Mary, about 2 weeks ago. And yes, we were together for seven years. I'm rambling now and I don't really know why I am telling you all of this."

John exhaled deeply, "Sorry for the overshare, ignore me." He forced a smile and started again, "It's getting late, and you really should be heading home soon. Before you do though, how about if you teach me a bit of how you do that deduction trick, say lunchtime tomorrow, then maybe I won't report what you said about your previous teacher. Deal?"

"Deal." Came Sherlock's reply, a bit too sudden than he liked.

John all but beamed "Great. I don't think you have Biology tomorrow, so I'll see you lunchtime. Bye Sherlock."

"Bye John." Sherlock began, but was met with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry. Bye Mr Watson." He corrected, picking up his messenger bag. He headed out of the classroom, passed the school gates and into the car park. In which, in his convertible and donned in his usual three-piece, Mycroft was sat waiting, tapping a four beat tune on the steering wheel.

"You're late." He stated.

"It's becoming a theme, isn't it?" Sherlock deadpanned.

"Tardiness is not a quality you want to keep Sherlock." Mycroft replied, pulling out of the car park. "What where you doing anyway?"

"Talking to someone." The younger Holmes said bluntly.

"Who?" inquired Mycroft, ever the nosy one.

"Just a friend." Sherlock answered, ending the conversation by getting out his iPod and popping in the ear buds. He missed the look of confusion, followed by concern that crossed his brother's face.


	2. Logic

The following day Sherlock was even more distant in class than he usually was, anticipating his lunch with Mr Watson. He'd been kept awake all night by thoughts of his Biology teacher, Sherlock knew nothing could become of it but he chalked it up to his first teenage crush. Mycroft would be appalled. And, it seemed, he wasn't the only one to be taken by John Watson, practically every female student appeared to share Sherlock's crush for the teacher. Likewise, the majority of male members of BSC had developed a strong rapport with John – passing back-and-forth jokes and commenting on the latest sports game as they passed in the hallways. Thus, John's offer of lunch made Sherlock feel all the more special. As far as he knew, and Sherlock prided himself on being 'plugged in' to all the school gossip, he was the only student to be ask by John join him out if class.

With just under half an hour to go before lunch Sherlock was feeling positively giddy, and quite frankly, it scared him. He always believed he could trust his emotions, right up until he met John Watson. John, who chose to see his brilliance, not his arrogance, who marvelled at, rather than mocked, his talent. John, who had made him, for the first time in his life, look forward to school.

Sherlock studied the clock, only ten minutes to go; he sighed and willed the lesson to be over. What made the wait appear excruciatingly longer was that Maths was probably his least favourite subject, well maybe after Sports. He especially hated his teacher, a tall, stout man by the name of Bradstreet. It had started on his first day of BSC, upon arriving to the class it seemed Bradstreet had already made it his priority to belittle him. He scoffed at the answers Sherlock gave – even when, as always, they were correct – and he mocked him in front of the other students. It wasn't until Sherlock went home in a strop and complained to his brother, that he discovered that Bradstreet's hatred stemmed from a disliking of Mycroft. It turned out that, whilst he'd attended BSC, Mycroft had argued with the teacher, about what Sherlock hadn't cared to ask, which lead to Bradstreet shoving Mycroft into wall. This had all been witnessed by another member of staff and resulted in the Maths teacher getting suspended for six months. Fast-forward nine years later and Bradstreet still held a grudge against the Holmes name.

_Two minutes to go_. He decided to pack up prematurely, not wanting to waste a second of his time with John.

"Holmes!" Bradstreet said with his usual spit of displeasure.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes?" he drawled.

"For once Holmes, can you at least act like you are partaking in the lesson." The teacher returned.

"Considering it's what…" Sherlock paused to look at the clock, "thirty seven second to go, I would say it's rather pointless now, wouldn't you?"

Bradstreet didn't get a chance to reply, or, if he did, Sherlock chose to ignore it on the basis that the bell had just rung and it was finally lunchtime. He couldn't get to the Biology lab quick enough; consequently he ended up crashing into nearly every student he passed in the corridors. As soon as he reached the door of the lab he suddenly felt fairly nervous. What if, after getting to know Sherlock more, John decided that he didn't like him after all? _'Come on Sherlock, man up!'_ he thought to himself and took a deep breath, pushing against the door and entering the lab.

"Hey, Sherlock" John greeted him with a warm smile as he finished collecting left-out textbooks from his last lesson.

"Hi Mr Watson" Sherlock replied as he took a seat on top of John's desk.

"Please Sherlock, when we're not in class, call me John. Mr Watson is my dad; I'm still not used to the name." With the last of the textbooks put away John pulled out the chair at his desk as sat beside Sherlock. "I know this is probably a little odd, I have only been your teacher for a day, but what you did the other day was genius, I'm quite intrigued.

Sherlock's cheeks pinked, "Thank you John."

John looked like a child about to find out how a magician accomplished his trick. "Come on then, spill. You said you'd teach me a bit about how you deduct."

"Well it's simple really. I observe everything. From what I observe, I deduce everything. When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth. For instance, when I deduced that you used to own a black cat, I first observed the scratches on the back of your hand. From the size and depth of the scratches I deduced that they were caused from a feline. I then deduced that you had recently given up the animal, I had observed that the cuts were relatively new but were somewhat faded. Now, that could just mean that the cat stopped scratching you, maybe you stopped petting it. However as you never wanted the cat in the first place, it's pretty obvious you prefer the loyalty and companionship of a canine; I concluded that you gave the cat away. Lastly, the colour of the cat, this was the easiest – your coat still has the odd black hair on it. You see, it's all in the logic." Sherlock exhaled, he'd reeled that off without stopping.

"Wow" John gaped.

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to see a look of wonder on the teacher's face. "That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?" John asked.

Sherlock chuckled, "Piss off."

John laughed in return, the crinkles around his eyes lighting up his face.

"Although," Sherlock began again "I will admit my overlooking of your break up was quite shameful, all the signs were there. There was shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody had pointed it out to you, traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there was no-one to tell you. Also, you're new to teaching. Most first-timers tend to teach at a local school to where they previously studied, there is only one university near here and you did not attend it. If you had you would have known exactly who Charlie Magnussen is – as he likes to remind everyone, his dad is the Superintendent at the Baker Street Police Department. So, new to the area, resulting from a conscious move, and currently living alone, it's not a big leap."

John grinned "Seriously Sherlock, what you can do… its bloody genius."

"You're the only one who thinks so, well, unless you count my parents. And I certainly don't." Sherlock said, uncharacteristically bashful.

"Ah." John thought back to the previous day, "You mean like Sally Donovan?"

Sherlock scoffed, looking away "And the rest."

John inched closer towards Sherlock and rested his arm on his knee, "Listen to me, the next time someone says, or does, something to you, you come and tell me and I will deal with them. Okay?"

Sherlock stared incredulously at the teacher and nodded, managing a "Yes."

"Good." John said, moving his hands to pat Sherlock on the back. "Now, I'll let you get off and have the last few minutes of lunch to yourself, and I will see you tomorrow, last period."

Sherlock stood up; he was rather reluctant to leave.

"Oh and Sherlock," John added as Sherlock gripped the handle of the door. "Feel free to come by any lunch time."

"You mean that?" Sherlock asked, hoping John wasn't just being polite.

"Of course," John insisted. "Come by tomorrow if you like, and seeing as I've taken up your entire lunch, you're welcome to bring food."

"I look forward to it. Okay, well bye John."

"Bye Sherlock."

As Sherlock exited the room he took one final look at his Biology teacher, who had returned to tidying the class room, and felt a slight tightening in his trousers as John bent over to pick a pencil up from the floor.

Mycroft really would be appalled.


	3. 20 Questions

As it always did after the first couple days back, Sherlock's school day soon fell into a routine. His lessons were pretty much the same as the previous year, however, with exams looming, his teachers placed a lot more work on his shoulders. The only difference this year was John. It had been a few weeks since their first lunch and he had spent every lunch, and break for that matter, there ever since. The two were quickly developing a strong friendship. Even their lunches had a routine; Sherlock would walk straight into the lab, never knocking first, and sit down on top of the desk adjacent to John's own. John would then proceed to lecture Sherlock on the importance of eating - "But John you know digestion slows down my ability to think. And anyway, I ate breakfast this morning, so I don't think I'm going to die of malnutrition right this second" -. Then, in return for Sherlock teaching John about his deduction process, John allowed to Sherlock to conduct his own experiments in the lab. These ranged from simple analyses of poisons to in-depth studies of the different types of tobacco ash.

Prior to their lunches Sherlock had conducted his experiments in solitude, often having to lock his bedroom door to keep Mycroft from pestering him and, occasionally, deliberately messing up his tests. But now he had come to relish the company supplied by John, who would, every now and then, chime in with a question that Sherlock would only be too happy to leap into a full explanation of and answer. The questions were usually based on the investigate Sherlock was conducting, except for the odd question about how ethical John letting Sherlock lead said investigations actually was. However, John asked a slightly different question at their lunch that day.

"Hey Sherlock?" John queried, watching the younger man as he worked.

"Uh huh?" Sherlock replied, only somewhat paying attention.

John moved a step closer to Sherlock, who was currently dropping small amounts of blood into a test-tube, and leant against the desk. "Before you started coming here at break and lunch, where did you go? Because, and don't take this the wrong way, you don't seem the most sociable of people."

Sherlock snorted, "You could say that, yeah." He paused, slotting the test-tube into the rack and turned back to face John. "I'd go to the music room; they let me practice in there."

John looked mildly surprised. "You play an instrument?"

"Violin." Sherlock supplied, continuing on with his experiment.

"Clarinet." John matched.

It was Sherlock's turn to look surprised. "Oh. I hadn't seen that."

"Well, there's not much you don't know, or haven't deduced, about me anymore. And actually, thinking about it, in comparison I really know nothing about you Sherlock" replied John.

"There's not a lot to tell really" Sherlock said.

"What about family?" John began, "I recall you mentioning a brother once but not anyone else."

"Like I said, not much to tell." Sherlock exhaled, pausing to think. "Two parents, one brother, no pets. Not the most interesting of biographies."

"Okay, next question," said John "what do you want to do after you leave BSC?"

That was an easy one. "I want to move to London. I'm going to be the world's first Consulting Detective."

"Consulting Detective?" John asked.

"I'll be there to help out the police with unsolved cases, see to private clients who need my deduction skills, that sort of thing." Sherlock answered proudly.

"Ah, most likely I'll still be here in Baker Street; nowhere else to go for me. No exciting adventure." John looked a little forlorn.

"Well, you could always come with me…" Sherlock grinned, wanting to make John smile.

Instead of a cocky, arguably borderline flirty remark from John, the latter seem to consider the proposal seriously. This, in turn, led Sherlock down the same train of thought. Surely there was no way it could work; this schoolboy crush on John was one thing – but the possibility of reciprocated feelings? No. There wasn't a chance. However, before the pair could voice their thoughts, the bell signalling the end of lunch rung out.

"Looks like we lost track of time again Sherlock" John said, flashing a smile; his previous display of emotion forgotten.

Sherlock smiled back and gathered his things. "I have English next, but I'll see you last period."

"See ya." John called out as Sherlock left the classroom.

John returned to his desk and pulled up the register for when his tutorial class filed in. He hadn't meant to be so pathetic around Sherlock whilst he was talking of London. But John couldn't help it, ever since he had been discharged from the army he had felt that a dash of danger and excitement was missing from his life. Well, until he met Sherlock, who had lit the smallest flicker of wonder inside John, what with his incredible intellect and the sense of mystery that followed him. '_Huh_' the constant thrill-seeking part John thought, maybe he should go with Sherlock after all.


	4. A Day Of Firsts

English had always been a subject Sherlock enjoyed, so he threw himself into the lesson and busying himself until his next period with John. If fact, as Greg Lestrade – Sherlock's English teacher – had noticed, the entire class appeared to work twice as hard during this fifth period lesson. Greg figured it was more of less to do with wanting to finish the lesson fast, speeding up the wait till John Watson's own lesson. John has become a bit of a legend at BSC, with both the staff and the pupils. He was engaging and 'cool' enough that he was loved by the students, but at the same time he wasn't trying so hard that the other teachers disliked him. This was a fact that had all but passed John by. Yes, he realized that he was lucky enough to be liked by practically everyone – bar the few 'the world is against me' angsty teens at BSC – but he had never really cared about the opinions of others, until Mary, that was. And, he thought, until Sherlock.

John sat at his desk as the thirsty-something students filed into the biology lab. He was looking forward to today; the school board has finally approved his plan to take his class to the Natural Science Museum in London. John's granddad, an army doctor himself and John's childhood hero had taken him to the Museum for his sixth birthday and proceeded to do so for every birthday until John was 11. Grandpa Watson had died a mere month before John's 12th birthday. This would be the first time John had been to the Museum without his granddad.

"Right class" John began, standing up to shut the door as the last student skirted in, "who here has been to the Natural Science Museum in London before?" A few hands grazed the air.

"Okay, let's try again. Who wants to ditch school this Friday and come with me to London to go to the Natural Science Museum?" Twenty-eight hands now rose.

"Thought so." John chimed and started to hand out permission slips. "All you need to do is get these signed and return them by Thursday and you're good to go."

John reached Sherlock and passed over a form, subtly winked at him, whispered "You can kick start your Consulting Detective business" and continued on to the rest of the students. Watching out of the corner of his eye as Sherlock grinned at him.

"So, all excitement out of the way, time to learn about the nervous system." John said as he gave out the last slip, chuckling as a unanimous groan sounded through the class. "Oh guys, your enthusiasm is so encouraging." He added as he loaded the power point for the following lesson.

Sherlock started copying down the information from John's presentation, not that he didn't already know that 'receptors are groups of specialised cells that can detect changes in the environment called stimuli'. Or that 'receptors are often located in the sense organs, such as the ear, eye and skin' and 'each organ has receptors sensitive to particular kinds of stimulus'. But he had promised John that he would at least try and participate in the class. Not to mention, Sherlock wanted to get further into John's good books so that when it came to Friday he might be able to sit next to his teacher on the train – giving him even more time alone with John.

* * *

It took Sherlock all of two minutes to leap out of Mycroft's car, bound through his front door and thrust the permission slip for the London trip into his mother's hands. With bemusement Violet Holmes signed her permission for the first ever school trip her youngest son had ever wanted to partake in. Sherlock went to take back the slip but his mother pulled it back before he got the chance.

"Uh, uh" Violet teased lightly. "Firstly, Sherlock Holmes, you can tell me which brilliant soul has actually managed to my elusive son to participate in a school run event."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and snatched the signed paper. "It's a science trip. To London. What part of doesn't sound like something I'd want to do?"

Violet sighed and leaned over to straighten Sherlock's tie, "Okay Sherlock, I'll let you run off to your room, I know you're dying to get away. And Sherlock, maybe you could actually show up for dinner tonight? For me?"

Sherlock met his mother's eyes; "Fine, I'll come down at six" he mumbled, walking off to his room.

The previous night has set the record for the third consecutive night Sherlock had missed dinner. He was certain his mother thought he had an eating disorder, but it wasn't that Sherlock deliberately skipped the meal – he just ended getting so wrapped up in his research (or whatever experiments he could manage to conduct in his tiny room) that he forgot stop for food. He knew that it was hurting his mother though, so he decided to just listen to some music on his iPod until it was time for dinner. Sherlock threw himself onto his bed, plug his earbuds into his iPod and closed his eyes.

Sherlock awoke to the sound of The Neighbourhood and pulled out his earbuds, he checked the time: crap, it was quarter past ten; he hadn't realized how tired he must have been. Sherlock stood up, stretched and opened his door to see if anyone was awake. The house was pitch black – save the soft glow from Mycroft's room but that was to be expected, it was rare his older brother went sleep before one am. As Sherlock took a step forward his foot nudged the edge of a silver tray. His mother had left out a chicken sandwich and a can of Coke, Sherlock felt a pang of guilt. He tiptoed into his parent's bedroom and kissed his mother's cheek, whispering "night mum" as he left to go brush his teeth and crawl back into bed.

As he drifted off to sleep again Sherlock thought not of his mother as he should've done, but of John and how his teacher had been insisting for him to start eating more regularly.

* * *

For the first time in a long while Sherlock woke early and packed himself a lunch. It wasn't anything fancy, just a piece of fruit and a sandwich, but it was enough to put a smile on Violet's face and that was all he cared about.

Well, that was all he thought he cared about, until he saw John beam at him as he pulled out the brown paper bag and he decided that if he could get John to smile at him like that every day then he would certainly be making more of an effort to eat lunch.

"You do realise that it's just a sandwich right? I'm not eating a three-course meal here" Sherlock teased John.

John swatted Sherlock's arm with the textbook he had paused marking in order to watch the teen eat. "I know that. It's just I don't think I've ever seen you eat before, I though t you just survived on carbonated drinks and chewing gum."

It was Sherlock's turn to shove John. He stuck his tongue out and took another bite of his sandwich.

"So," John started again, "You looking forward to Friday?"

Sherlock nodded; his mouth currently occupied with eating.

John chucked the textbook onto the marked pile and picked up another. "You ever been before?"

Sherlock swallowed, "Nope. Never been to London either."

John feigned shock. "Outrageous. I'll have to make sure I give you the sought after John Watson tour then shall I?"

"I am honoured, thank you John." Sherlock replied, hesitating when he realised he had used his teacher first name.

John laughed at Sherlock's expression. "Sherlock please, don't look so worried, you're welcome to call me John when we're out of class. That's what friends do right?"

"Friends?" Sherlock tried the word out in his mouth.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it in a weird way, I only meant-" John went on.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, you are my friend. I just don't have a lot of those, that's all.

John smiles softly and placed his hand on Sherlock's arm. "Well then, it's a good thing you have me. Anyway, you should be heading back to lessons; the bell should be going soon."

They said their usual goodbyes and as Sherlock sat in his fourth period he tried the word out again. 'Friend'. Yes, he very much liked the idea of John being his first proper friend.


End file.
